


In the New Old-Fashioned Way

by dollylux



Series: Fic Advent Calendar 2014: Brothers, Soulmates, and Other Such Sexiness [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoration of the Highest Degree, Awkward Dancing to Crappy 90s Music, Because Winchesters, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddling That Is Actually More Like Soul Bonding, Dean the High School Dance Chaperone, High School, Jealous Dean Winchester, Loneliness, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, School Dances, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Weecest, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets invited to the winter formal, so Dean decides to torture himself by volunteering to chaperone the dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the New Old-Fashioned Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Exaggerated_Specificity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/gifts).



> Day ten of my fic advent challenge. Prompt: snowed in.

Dean glares at the giant snowflake plastered to the side of the school, covering the words B.M.C. Durfee High School and managing to look both charming and tacky as shit.

Dad’s got the car wherever he is, so Dean’s stuck with the red ‘86 Honda Prelude hatchback with shitty tires and a busted heater they begged off of Bobby when Dean complained about having to walk everywhere in December in Fall River, Massachusetts during an especially harsh winter. Dean got a car, alright. He realizes now that he should have been a little more specific when asking for one.

He tugs on the tie of his stuffy suit, about to say fuck it and start the car up again, head back home and finish off his swiped bottle of Wild Turkey and go to bed early, but.

“Goddamnit, Sammy,” Dean sighs, pulling the keys out of the ignition with some finality and opening up the car door, letting in a blast of frigid air and increasingly fast-falling snow. 

It’s the Durfee High winter formal, and Sam had been invited by a girl in his class, a drop dead gorgeous Brazilian girl named Daniela dos Santos who Sam has been talking about nonstop the entire three weeks they’ve been here. And when Sam had come home and asked Dean to help him pick out a tux at the rental place downtown, his eyes down, voice all shy, like he has no idea how fucking cute he is, Dean hadn’t been able to say no.

So the next day, he’d called the school and asked if they needed volunteers at the dance. Partially because he’s a masochistic _idiot_ and partially to really keep an eye on Sam and make sure nothing goes wrong. Dean’s seen some crazy shit in his nineteen years. He knows there is absolutely no warning before something horrible happens.

Sam had wanted to come with Daniela by himself, didn’t want to stuff her and her big fluffy dress in Dean’s borrowed POS, so they’d gone in with some friends of theirs (like they’re a fucking couple or something) and rented a limo.

Dean straightens out his tie, watching a little nervously as awkwardly overdressed teenagers file into the gymnasium in pairs. 

Well. Here goes nothing.

 

The inside of the gym looks like a snowglobe: covered in sparkly glitter and streamers and piles of fake snow and dangling snowflakes. The dance has already started, some bad Eurotrash dance song pumping out from the speakers. He grits his teeth and makes his way across the gym to where a little gaggle of teachers are, and he gives him a tight, polite smile when they turn curious, overly interested eyes on him.

“Hey, uh. I’m Dean Winchester, Sammy’s big brother. I’m here to chaperone.”

“Mmm,” one of the teachers hums, her eyes trailing up and down the line of Dean’s body before she fixes him with a sultry gaze. “Such a good brother. How old are you, Dean?”

Dean glances around at all the eyes on him, his hands coming together to clasp in front of him, his cheeks coloring. He’s entirely out of his element here, and he’s wondering for maybe the hundredth time what the fuck possessed him to do this.

“Nineteen. Why?”

“Old enough,” another of the cougars stage whispers to the ring leader, and that leads the gaggle of them to chitter and giggle and all but purr in his general direction. Dean smirks.

“Old enough, definitely.” He spies his little name tag on the table in front of them and snatches it up, pinning it to the front of his suit. “Too bad I like dick.”

He narrows his eyes at the one man standing there, frowning at the entire conversation. His eyebrows disappear into his thinning hairline, eyes widening when Dean’s meet his.

“Hey, big boy,” Dean murmurs, giving the guy a naughty wink before he’s spinning on his heel and disappearing, making sure to go slow and confident until he’s out of their line of sight, and then he’s shuffling as fast as he can in these slippery shoes. He tucks himself into a corner near the punch bowl and pulls his flash out of his pocket, taking a few healthy gulps before he can breathe again.

Fucking dances.

It’s just a bunch of attention-seeking teenagers’ chance to put on expensive clothes and grind on each other in public to shitty Top 40 radio tunes in front of their teachers. Dean had been to one dance in his tumultuous school career, and it had ended with him pounding Darcy Sawyer in the Shoney’s bathroom afterwards. Mmm. Darcy. 

Still hadn’t been worth the torture of the actual dance.

Sam and his friends arrive about ten minutes later, a little cluster of six or so, all the guys in mostly identical tuxes and the girls in a variety of dresses. Daniela, Sam’s little girlfriend, is wearing a blood red dress that hugs her surprising curves and pushes her boobs up nice and high, her long curling dark hair spilling around her shoulders in thick waves.

She’s a fucking knockout. 

One of her small hands is laced with Sam’s, and Sam is laughing about something she’s whispering in his ear, his smile big and bright and this goddamn school doesn’t deserve to have him here. Dean closes his eyes briefly, can just make out the sound of Sam’s laughter over the steady thump of dance music. He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat.

When Dean opens his eyes again, he finds Sam looking straight at him, not laughing anymore but just staring, all of his friends talking and joking around him. Dean leans back against the wall, unable to keep his annoying, humiliating vulnerability out of his expression, his stupid, lethal, impossible love for his brother right there for everyone to see.

He forces a smile onto his face and tips his head up in a subtle greeting, not wanting to be a total pathetic fucking geek and wave or something.

...Like Sam is doing right now.

Dean doesn’t even realize how stupidly he’s grinning, how lovesick and lame he looks when he lifts a hand and waves right back, fingers wiggling and everything. Sam is heading right toward him, and Dean wonders suddenly if this is how girls feel when the hottest guy in school heads toward them, about to ask them to dance.

Jesus, he’s a fucking dork.

“Dean!” Sam is beaming by the time he makes it over, his face already flushed, sweat gathering on his upper lip and his temples. Dean hides his flask and stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying to look cool and unbothered and maybe a little bored, but he can’t keep a smile in in the face of Sam’s excitement.

“Heya, Sammy. How was the limo ride?”

“It was awesome! We could control the radio in the back, and Tyrone decided he wanted to put the sunroof back and get up on top of the limo. It was freezing cold. The girls were so pissed.” He’s grinning so hard it has to hurt, and he’s stepping in closer and closer to Dean until they’re snugged up just like they always are, just like they can’t help but be. Sam relaxes a little then, his eyes scanning Dean’s face, smile softening. “When did you get here?”

“Oh, just a little bit ago. Had to pick up my nametag from the Cougar Table and here I am.” Dean shrugs, looking Sam over and reaching out to adjust his tie, fingers gentle when they lift to slide a few stray strands of sweaty hair back into place. “Listen, just forget I’m here. Go have fun, alright? Lemme know if you. I dunno. Need me or anything.”

Sam has the nerve to look sweet, shy, head down, eyes up, looking at Dean through his stupid long eyelashes. He takes a single step back, smile returning as he nods.

“Thanks, Dean. You don’t have to stay for the whole thing. It’ll be boring.”

Dean’s smile tightens.

“I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”

Sam watches him for a few more beats before he’s walking away, mouthing a quick ‘bye’ and he’s gone, back to his friends, to the girl who is waiting for him with a beaming smile, who presses a red-mouthed kiss to Sam’s lips that makes Dean’s insides seize up, his belly burn hot with anger.

He looks away.

 

He manages not to find them again for nearly an hour, but in his slow meander around the gym, Dean can’t help but run into them. 

There’s some song playing about how the dude doesn’t see anything wrong with bumping and grinding, and generally Dean agrees, but the guy’s wishes get played out right in front of Dean when he passes by a couple of kids who are all but dirty dancing right there on the crowded dancefloor, skinny teenage bodies pressed up tight, grinding deep in ways that teenagers just _should not know_ how to do. Or something.

Dean pauses, a disapproving frown on his face that quickly turns to horror when he realizes that one of the kids is _Sam_. His Sam! He’s mostly just standing there, to his defense, just moving his hips a little while Daniela, the little trollop, works and grinds against Sam like he’s a damn stripper pole or something. 

“Hey, uh. No. Hey, excuse me.” Dean steps right up to them, a firm hand shoving between their bodies, palm pressed flat against Sammy’s chest as he pushes him back, putting a respectable amount of space between them. Their faces are both flushed, and Sam looks surprised and then embarrassed, bottom lip bitten between his teeth as he ducks his head.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Too close,” Dean says unnecessarily, his disapproving glare flashing on Daniela. He examines the space between their bodies and shakes his head, grabbing Sam by the jacket and tugging him back even further. “There. That’s better.”

Daniela snorts, glancing around at all the other way too close couples around them, her perfectly groomed eyebrows raising defiantly at Dean.

“Um, why are you only worried about us? Everybody’s doing it.”

Dean takes a step back, arms folding over his chest, trying his best to look like a grumpy teacher.

“Everybody, huh? So, if everybody walked out into traffic, does that mean--”

“Dean, we’re sorry,” Sam interrupts, his voice soft, contrite. “We’ll be better, promise.”

“Dean? Oh, this is your _brother_?” Daniela is looking at him again, her eyes wide, like Dean’s interference makes even less sense now, her accent thickening the more annoyed she seems to get. “I thought you said he was cool.”

“Listen, just,” Dean huffs, licking his lips, not daring to look over at Sam now, “just chill out. I don’t know why they play this kind of crap and expect everybody not to be humping each other, but why don’t you just show some restraint, alright?”

“We will.” Sam searches Dean’s eyes pleadingly when Dean finally manages to look at him, the pretty hazel of them bright not with embarrassment, but with the need for forgiveness. Dean pushes his hands into his pockets again even though everything in him tells him to get those hands on his brother, to pull him over close and show him just how two bodies are supposed to move together.

Daniela steps in against Sam again, and Dean shoots her a warning look, glancing down at the distance between their hips.

“Leave room for the Lord,” he reminds them, pointing at both of their bodies with a stern frown before he walks away from them. He sinks down on the bleachers and takes a deep breath that he lets out slowly, after he counts to ten.

This is going to be so much harder than he thought.

He has the flask to his lips when someone sits down beside him with a sigh, drawing him out of his very dedicated staring at Sam dancing. He slips his flask back into his pocket, raising an eyebrow at whoever is sitting way too close to him. 

It’s a boy, about Sam’s age and just as tall and skinny, his eyes big and blue and fixed on Dean’s face. His cheeks are flushed and he’s a pretty thing, way too needy-looking to just be walking around out in the world. Dean blinks at the kid before looking away again, too awkward to make eye contact with somebody sitting so close to you that you’re not looking to kiss.

“Uh. Can I help you?”

The kid squirms, his beachy blonde hair falling in thick waves over his eyes, and the flush on his cheek brightens. Dean moves a few inches away, staring down at his own hands.

“Yeah, I just,” the kid starts, his voice soft, breathy. Gay. So, so, so gay. “I heard you over there when you were talking to the teachers earlier. I heard you tell them. T-Tell them. Um.”

Oh, Jesus. Dean closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, waiting for the punchline. 

“That you’re into guys and I was just, I dunno. I was just wondering if maybe you’d.”

“I’d what?” Dean coaxes as patiently as he can, pressing a fingernail into a healing gash across his knuckles.

“...Maybe you’d dance with me?”

He actually had the balls to ask, Dean’ll give him that. He turns toward the kid a little bit, searching his flushed face, noting his tensed shoulders and the downward turn of his mouth, like he’s already bracing himself for rejection. 

“Look, kid--”

“Elliott.”

Dean sighs. “Elliott. It’s nothing against you, I just--”

He glances back out toward the dancefloor, all the girls laughing and flirting with boys and all the boys with their eyes on girls, and here they are, Dean and Elliott, sitting on the sidelines, being freaks, watching them all. Dean sets his jaw, waiting for just a beat before he stands up.

“You know what? What the hell. Let’s do it.”

Elliott stares up at him, his mouth dropping open.

“...Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” Dean shrugs fingers sliding down to button his jacket. “What’s the harm? That bloodsucker who was over at the Cougar Table was dancing with that jock kid earlier. What are they gonna say to me?”

Elliott’s just blinking at Dean like he’s a dream, like this couldn’t possibly be real, but he snaps out of it soon enough and jumps up, sliding his hand into the crook of the elbow Dean’s holding out for him. Dean sucks in a deep breath that he holds as he leads the kid out onto the floor, grateful that the song is some kind of slow jam instead of the grinding song from earlier. 

Dean reaches for Elliott’s hands and pulls them up onto his shoulders, guiding them to hook around his neck. He wraps his arms around Elliott’s slim waist and pulls him in, starting up the traditional, lame dance happening in schools all over America: the ‘sway back and forth until the song’s over’ move. 

There are people openly staring at them, watching them as they dance just like everybody else is, and Dean takes each one of them on, staring right back so blankly that they can’t help but get uncomfortable, look away. Elliott edges in closer, resting his cheek on Dean’s shoulder and all but hugging him now. He exhales a sigh against Dean’s cheek and Dean truly can’t help but tighten his arms around him a little bit, swaying a little more meaningfully.

“This is the best night of my life,” Elliott whispers, his nose nudging Dean’s neck. “Thank you.”

Dean smiles, a tug of one side of his mouth, letting his fingers sink in deeper on Elliott’s back, a little squeeze. “No problem.”

They fall quiet again and the song continues, the world not ending because two dudes danced together at a winter formal, to the apparent surprise of most everyone around them. He can’t help but daydream while he sways, the song talking about love and soulmates and feeling complete, can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have Sam right here against him, in his arms while they danced in front of everyone. If Sam would be nervous or proud, if he’d tuck up against Dean like Elliott is right now or if he’d keep his distance, afraid of what everybody would say on Monday.

What if they could have this, touch each other like this right in front of everybody? What if Sam actually wanted him to?

Yeah, fucking right.

Dean opens his eyes and they’re drawn across the room like they’re being pulled, fixing right on Sam like it was planned. Sam is staring right at him, watching him dance with this boy, the look on his face indescribable. Dean can’t look away, could never look away from Sam in a moment like this, no matter how much it hurts.

Sam is still dancing with Daniela, and Sam’s ever-growing arms are hugged around her back, holding her tight against him. There’s hurt there in Sam’s eyes, confusion and a strange, unexpected possessiveness that Dean could never dream up, could never imagine on his own. The song slows to an end and a fast song starts up, and Dean has to tear his eyes away from his brother as he pulls back from Elliott, turning his eyes down to meet the boy’s and giving him a smile.

“Thank you.” Elliott looks near tears and can’t quite meet Dean’s eyes, and he’s just about to walk away, head ducking, when Dean reaches out and snags his arm.

“Hey, if anybody gives you any trouble tonight, you come find me, alright? I’ll deal with ‘em.”

Elliott nods, giving Dean one final glance and then he’s hurrying away, back toward a small group of girls Dean hadn’t noticed before, ones that are beaming at Elliott as he rushes toward them and into the thick of them.

Dean sucks in a deep breath and makes his way over to the refreshment table, snagging a few chips and M&Ms and eating them all in one bite. There are still people looking at him, leaning in to whisper to each other, but he ignores them, rolls his eyes a little at them and looks away.

There’s movement over to his left, in front of the reliable punch bowl, and he sees a glint of metal as two boys crowd around the bowl. Dean smirks, appreciating the gesture and the respect for history in spiking the punch bowl, but he very quickly realizes that Sammy could drink from that punch bowl, and fuck no.

“Hey!” he hisses, hurrying over to them and grabbing the biggest boy by the arm and jerking him away from the bowl just as he tips the flask over to pour what looks like malt liquor in. The boys’ eyes are huge, just two stupid Beavis and Butthead type twerps who have probably never gotten caught doing any of the stupid shit they’ve done over the years. He tightens his grip on the boy’s arm and then reaches over to grab the other one, yanking them away and shoving them towards the wall nearby.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Huh?”

“We were just, uh,” one starts.

“--we were just kidding. It’s just water.” the other one chimes in, Butthead, the brains of the pair. 

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Just water, huh? Lemme see it.” He holds his hand out, fingers waving impatiently. The guys glance at each other, and Dean’s jaw tenses. “Now!”

Beavis passes the flask over, and Dean glares between them as he uncaps it and lifts it up, taking a dramatic whiff, but he doesn’t have to exaggerate his reaction to the smell.

“Jesus Christ, you idiots. What is this, gasoline?”

“It’s my older brother’s! He dared me to!”

“School’s full of fuckin’ sheep, if you ask me. If you get out of my face by the time I’m done talking, I won’t tell--”

They scramble to get away from him, grabbing onto each other’s arms and ducking back into the crowd.

“Idiots,” he mutters, turning for what feels like the millionth time to find his little brother, to make sure he’s still having fun. The music gets cut off suddenly, some Britney Spears song so no fucking loss, and voices rise up immediately in complaint.

“Excuse me! Attention, students!” It’s the head cougar from the table earlier, her voice loud over the speakers. Dean takes a brave pull from the confiscated bottle and shudders as it goes down. “It seems that the weather has taken a turn for the worse, and we have been advised to not let anyone try and leave. The roads are treacherous, and the temperature has dropped to make them even icier. We will all be staying here tonight.”

The reaction for that is varied, some cheers going up in the middle of all the cries of anguish and disbelief, and Dean’s heart is racing at the possibilities of everything that could happen tonight, of how much this changes things. He starts into the gaggle of kids, eyes traveling worriedly over them in search of Sammy.

“We will be gathering supplies and blankets to accommodate all of you as comfortably as possible, so don’t worry! The dance isn’t over yet, so put this out of your mind and just have fun!” The music returns after an awkward pause, but everyone is talking over it instead of dancing, hundreds of conversations going on around Dean as he pushes through the crowd.

“Mr. Winchester! Mr. Winchester!” A hand grips his shoulder and he turns around to find himself face to face with Ms. Cougar who seems a little flustered and stressed now. He raises an eyebrows at her.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to help Coach Peterson get all the cots and mats and sleeping bags and blankets we’ve got. Boys are gonna be in the cafeteria and the auditorium, and the girls will be here in the gymnasium.”

“Uh. Okay.” Dean glances around at all the kids, worry setting in at the thought of all the shit that could go wrong. “But how are you gonna--”

“I can’t think any further than that, alright? Give my Xanax time to kick in and then we’ll talk.” She’s gone without another word, leaving Dean staring after her.

Well, hell.

 

The next hour and a half of his life is spent dragging shit all over the school, organizing it all into piles and trying to Macgyver together enough stuff to sleep all of these kids for the night. He secretly tucks a sleeping bag, a blanket, and two pillows away for Sam, not really giving a shit if some kids won’t get a blanket or if they’ll only get a sleeping bag and no pillow. Dean’s allowed to play favorites.

He helps divvy up all the shit to the kids, only giving them dead-eyed stares when they complain at him about how flat the pillows are or how scratchy the blankets or how it’s unfair that the boys and girls can’t sleep in the same room, if they want to. He doesn’t see Sam the entire time, doesn’t even see him after everyone has more or less gotten their sleep stuff and has retreated to their corners to set it up. Dean slips into the auditorium to find boys setting their sleeping bags up on the stage and between the aisles, and he spies Sam immediately.

Dean’s got his jacket and tie off, sleeves rolled up, his carefully styled hair a sweaty mess now, and he’s tired as he makes his way down the aisle and up to the edge of the stage where Sam is sitting on his sleeping bag, meticulously folding up his jacket and working on undoing his tie.

Dean folds his arms up on the edge of the stage and rests his cheek on them, smiling tiredly up at his brother when Sam finally looks down and sees him.

“Dean! I was wondering where you were. This is crazy, right?” 

“Yeah, fucking nuts. I’ve been finding all these things for you guys to sleep on so it doesn’t turn into _Lord of the Flies_ up in here. I have a sleeping bag and a blanket and a couple of pillows set aside for you, Sammy. I just couldn’t find you to give ‘em to you.” 

Sam looks so flushed and drained and a little nervous, the bowtie now caught between his long fingers while he folds it up and sets it on his jacket.

“You don’t have to do that, Dean. The sleeping bag is fine. I’ve definitely slept with less and on worse.” He cuts a glance over at Dean out of the corners of his eyes and flashes him a shy grin, one that makes Dean shift forward, press his hips against the side of the stage.

“Well, listen, uh. I’m not gonna hang around you and embarrass you or anything. I’m gonna be up in the teacher’s lounge on the second floor. There’s a couch and a TV up there, and all the other ‘grown-ups’ are gonna be down here making sure nobody gets knocked up, so it’ll just be me. Just, um. Just in case you need anything.” His hand slides out to splay against the worn wooden stage floor, less than an inch from Sam’s knee. He watches his own hand, keeps his eyes down but he feels the burn of Sam’s gaze on him, can tell by the way he’s being quiet that he wants to argue with something that Dean said, somehow.

“Okay, Dean,” he says finally, his voice soft. Dean glances up, keeping it casual and easy even though he’s mostly just sad, aching, despising the thought of being so fucking far from Sam the entire night, of leaving him with a bunch of strangers (to Dean, at least) and not being close by in case anything happens.

“Alright. Get some sleep, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, slapping the stage gently a couple of times before he’s slipping away, not letting himself look back as he retreats.

 

Another couple hours pass of wrangling students and fetching pillows and helping girls hang up their crazy dresses and bringing them changes of Durfee High gym clothes to sleep in before he’s relieved from duty. He can’t escape fast enough.

The teacher’s lounge is actually pretty sweet, got a soda machine (not that he has any change) and a TV, a big ol’ comfy couch, and a fridge full of people’s leftovers. He flips the lock on the door (in case Cougar Lady gets any wild ideas) and strips down to his wifebeater and his boxer briefs, spreading the blanket he’d gotten for Sammy out on the couch and fluffing up the pillows.

He turns the overhead light off and feels his way over to the couch, flopping down on it and letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh.

He can hear faint laughter and conversation through the vents, can hear a few kids sneaking around in the hallway, probably to go make out or smoke or vandalize or something. It feels weird, being here and being completely apart from all these kids who aren’t that much younger than him, the division between all of them and him clear. He feels like the odd kid out at a slumber party, the one who was invited because somebody’s mom insisted on it, the one the other kids get together and talk shit about. Only one of the kids here is his baby brother, his perfect, amazing Sammy, and maybe that just makes it hurt even fucking worse.

He wonder if Sam and Daniela did anything tonight, if she got a goodnight kiss or fingering out of Sam before she was closed off in the gym. He wonders if Sam’s fingers still smell like her, if he licked them clean. If Sam jerked off in the bathroom before going into the auditorium with the other boys so he didn’t have to worry about needing to get off in a room full of other dudes.

Dean’s rubbing his own dick through his underwear without even realizing it, half-hard even as his chest aches at the thought of Sam with her, with anybody. 

She’s definitely hot though, got a nice tight body that Sam’s hands would look amazing on, and maybe she’d be into sucking Sam off while Dean fucked him, or maybe she’d play with Sam’s pretty pink nipples while Dean--

There’s a knock on the door.

Dean’s hand freezes halfway into his briefs, eyes open wide in the dark. He holds his breath and listens.

“Dean?”

Sammy.

“Yeah, man, hold on.” Fuck. Dean pulls his hand off his junk immediately, wiping it uselessly on the couch before he hauls himself up and toward the door, refusing to turn the light on because he doesn’t want Sam to see the thick bulge of his cock in his underwear. He opens the door, the faint light from the hallway silhouetting Sam, and Dean feels a painful surge of love for him, has to hold onto the doorframe and just ride it out.

“Sorry, um.” Sam ducks his head, still wearing his dress pants and holding his jacket and tie. “It just felt weird to sleep down there. Knowing you were up here and all.”

Dean bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, biting right into the flesh, the taste of blood flooding his tongue. “Yeah, uh,” he starts, his voice low, gritty. He clears his throat and takes a step back, clearing the way for Sam to step inside. “C’mon.”

Sam’s arm brushes his stomach as he walks past Dean and into the room, and Dean feels the ghosting warmth of it while he turns to shut the door behind him, checking three times to make sure it’s locked again. 

“You want me to turn the light on?”

“No, it’s okay,” Sam replies almost too quickly from somewhere near the couch. Dean crosses the room again, his outstretched hands touching Sam’s arm briefly before he finds the couch, sinking down on it and pulling the blanket back.

“Go ahead and get undressed, Sammy. You can’t sleep in those pants, they’re uncomfortable as hell. I’ll take the sleeping bag on the floor, if you want the couch.”

There’s a rustle of clothes, the whisper of fabric over skin and the thunk of shoes and it goes quiet again, and Dean can tell that Sam is looking at him, or at least toward him, that he’s standing close.

“We can share the couch. Right, Dean? There’s plenty of room, and we can share the blanket.” 

Sam sinks down beside him on the couch, their bare thighs touching now. It feels like lightning all over Dean’s skin, and he’s so grateful for the pitch blackness surrounding them because he can close his eyes and draw his bottom lip into his mouth, just take a fucking second to adjust to this, to Sam suddenly just _being here_ after a torturous evening of him being decidedly over _there._

“Yeah. Sure, Sammy. If that’s what you wanna do.”

Sam scoots forward and Dean sucks in a deep breath before he turns to stretch out on his side on the couch, pushing back as deep into the cushions as he can to leave plenty of room for Sam. He closes his eyes while Sam settles in, that burning up little body pressing all along Dean’s front, warming him even without the blanket and surrounding Dean with his smell, that familiar, comforting smell of his brother, the miles and miles of his sweet skin and his hair and even the smell of his breath. Dean knows all of it, can scent it out. He’s drowning it in right now.

He feels Sam’s delicate little shoulder blades pressing into his chest, all of Sam’s thick hair rustling around close to his nose. Finally, Sam edges his lower body back, the tight plush of his ass brushing right against Dean’s dick. Dean swallows, face burying into Sam’s hair, his hand in a fist on his own thigh to keep from reaching out and touching.

“You have fun tonight?” His voice is muffled by Sam’s hair but he’s so close, they’re so close, there’s no way Sam didn’t hear him. Sam is pulling up the blanket and tucking it in around them, making sure their feet are covered before he’s pulling it up over their shoulders and settling in with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Sam finally offers, the answer pretty ambivalent for a guy who just spent the whole night getting humped by a hot little Brazilian girl who seems to be crazy about him. “Daniela really wanted to go to this dance tonight. There’s some guy she used to go out with who was here, and she wanted to make him jealous. I told her I’d go with her.”

Dean blinks for that, a little surprised, shifting so that his elbow is on the cushion, his cheek propped up on his hand so he can look down in Sam’s direction a little.

“Oh, so. You guys aren’t, like. Going out or anything?”

Sam shakes his head, and Dean feels it more than sees it.

“We’re just friends. She was having a hard time, and I wanted to help her out.”

“Huh.” An unbelievable amount of tension eases out of Dean’s chest, and he finds himself almost smiling in the dark. His other hand is under the covers, still resting on his own thigh, but his fingers are inching forward, the thought of touching Sam’s hair, of petting him like Dean used to when Sam was little and he was trying to ease him down into sleep absolutely obsessing him. “Well, that was nice of you to do.”

“I saw you with that boy,” Sam says suddenly, the words coming out a little rushed, like he’d been holding them in for awhile. It’s quiet after he says them, and Sam shifts around like he’s nervous, fitful. Dean just grits his teeth and keeps his hips still until Sam settles again. “Elliott. I saw you dancing with him.”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, his voice careful, slow. He watches the darkness where he knows Sam is, wishing he could see him, see the look on his face so he could better gauge how he’s feeling. He treads forward cautiously. “He seemed to be kinda lonely, and he asked me to dance, so I did.”

It’s silent between them for a long moment, just the sound of Sam’s harsh, almost fast little breaths rushing through the air. Dean swallows, breath held, and he just waits him out.

“How was it?”

Dean blinks.

“How was what?”

“Dancing with him.”

“Um. It was okay, I guess? Awkward, just like dancing with absolutely anybody at any time with any amount of alcohol is.” 

“Elliott’s gay.” The words are almost challenging, like Sam’s expecting to surprise Dean with the revelation. Dean has to hold in a laugh.

“Yeah, Sammy. I figured that one out when he wanted to dance with me.”

“I just,” Sam rushes on, and Dean can hear him lick his lips, “I just didn’t expect it, is all. That you’d do something like that. That you’d dance with a guy and not care if that made you. Made you look…”

“Gay?” Dean finishes, his hand finally moving forward without his permission, the pad of his thumb circling around the bony knob of Sam’s wrist bone. 

“Y-Yeah.”

“Don’t really care. I don’t know any of these people. And if it makes that kid happy, makes his shitty high school experience around a bunch of dickhead straight kids a little better, who the hell am I to say no?”

Sam doesn’t say anything back to that, doesn’t do anything but press back tighter against Dean, his ass melded completely into the curve of Dean’s body, right up against his dick. Dean closes his eyes again, head sliding down to rest on his own bicep, his hand dangling loosely above their heads, ghosting over the thick of Sam’s hair.

“You okay?” Dean asks after a long moment of complete silence, his voice quiet, just for Sam even in this empty room. He takes a chance and slides his arm around Sam’s tiny waist, his hand coming up to spread out between Sam’s chest and stomach, right against the bottom of his ribcage. He can feel the fast race of Sam’s heart, the rabbit-kick of his pulse, and it makes him ache, makes him feel dangerously protective, like he wants to tuck Sam away like this forever and keep him from anything that makes him feel whatever he’s feeling right now.

“I just missed you tonight, is all.” The words are trembling and sad, almost whispered, thick like maybe they’re not exactly the words that wanted to come out. Dean tightens his arm around him, nestling his face into the nape of Sam’s neck, his mouth on the top notch of his spine.

“Missed you too, Sammy,” he breathes low against his skin, inhaling deep and slow, drawing in a thick lungful of Sam’s scent. “Missed you every second.”

“Hold me tighter, Dean,” Sam whispers, his own hand coming down to cover Dean’s, pulling Dean’s arm hard against his chest, his breath catching a little when Dean tenses his arm, squeezes Sam back against himself. His dick throbs against Sam’s ass, a lurching, wet pulse against the two thin layers of their underwear, and Dean grits his teeth, trying to tug his hips back as far as he can.

“Sorry.” It’s a mumbled apology, his cheeks burning hot, but Sam just arches his beautiful little body even more, curling effortlessly into a gorgeous curve so his ass can find Dean’s hips again, snugging right back up where it was. Dean shudders, breath tumbling out of his mouth in a burning, aching pant.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam murmurs, his face all but tucked against the old couch cushion. “I like it.”

Dean swallows hard, but he forces his body to relax, easing them both out of their forced arches to settle back naturally together. He lifts his leg and cautiously drapes it over Sam’s hip, pulling him back between his legs and all but trapping Sam between his body and the couch. They’re pressed together from head to toe now, even their socked feet finding each other and curving together, Sam’s little toes nestled into the arch of Dean’s foot.

They don’t move, don’t stir or shift or grind, they just stay right where they are, Dean’s lips on Sam’s neck, parted and breathing there, his dick pressed possessively against the sweet round of Sam’s butt. It feels like ownership, like the first time Dean has ever felt comfortable in his body, has ever felt like he’s exactly where he needs to be. And it doesn’t feel like they fall asleep so much as it feels like they melt together, that they accept the dark and sink into it, and maybe being this close, finally being as close as they’ve always needed, they’ll share dreams tonight.


End file.
